Date: Mon, 11 Feb 2013 20:05:35 -0800 (PST)
From: Christian Debus
Subject: Re: "Wickus" Chapter 4 (Gay Male Interracial and Gay Male Authoritarian)
WICKUS
Chapter 4
The Family Dinner
This is a story of erotic fiction meant for adult readers over the age of
eighteen years.
Written by Jean-Christophe (Chris): February, 2013
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Chapter 4: Wickus, the slave.
After Master Thandiwe had dismissed me and I'd retied my loincloth around
my waist, I hurried downstairs to the kitchen. I was in a heightened state
of anxiety for I knew instinctively that I would be on the receiving end of
Gerd's acidic tongue and that in all probability I would feel Mistress
Mandisa's crop across my shoulders.
I've only been a slave in this household for two weeks and yet I already
know that fear and cruelty reign supreme in this household. Like all the
other household slaves I live in fear of our Master and his faithful
agents, Mistress Mandisa and Master Uuka. Our Master allows his African
housekeeper and her groundsman husband great latitude in their control of
us. Mistress Mandisa is never parted from the leather crop whose sting is
akin to that of a thousand wasps. It is her symbol of authority and she
wields it to great effect.
Master Uuka on the other hand has eschewed the crop for the leather whip
known colloquially as the litupa. It too is a fearsome instrument of
discipline and I have screamed under its searing pain as Master Uuka
spurred me and my fellow slaves to greater effort when working in the
grounds of our Master's home. Formerly known as the sjambok whip, the
litupa is made from hippopotamus hide - although some litupas are made from
the flexible penis of a hippo bull - and even the lightest touch can induce
much pain and raise an angry, red welt on an unprotected back. Master Uuka
is skilful in its use and he knows exactly how much force to apply so that
our backs aren't shredded and our ascetic appeal lost. Needless to say, we
take great care not to incur the wrath of either Mistress Mandisa or Master
Uuka.
Gerd on the other hand is a different matter. Although more mature and aged
somewhere in his forties he is, like us, merely a slave and subject to the
same rules of behaviour and discipline that govern the rest of us, He
carries no symbols of authority other than his vile temper and corrosive
tongue.
I have been told by my fellow slaves that he was once the employer of our
Master who somehow acquired him as slave. Popular rumour among the younger
slaves is that our Master "elevated" him to the role of house steward to
act as our supervisor without giving him any real power. I was told Master
did this to taunt him with the loss of his former authority and to impress
upon him that he is now just a lowly slave. That could well be true!
Nevertheless, despite Gerd not having the right to use the crop, cane or
whip on us, he is very free with his open hand and all of us have had him
slap our faces with teeth-rattling force.
Of course, there are those memorable occasions when, for some reason, Gerd
upsets Mistress Mandisa and we gleefully watch as she loudly berates him
with her tongue and flails his back and shoulders with her crop.
All this has made Gerd a twisted, bitter individual who delights in the
suffering of others especially those of us who work directly under his
supervision. He possesses a mercurial nature and his mood swings are
unpredictable. One minute he can be all sweetness and light praising us and
the next he can be overbearing and bullying condemning us and recommending
to our Master that we receive a caning. Master usually accepts Gerd's
recommendation and in the fortnight I have been in the household I have
witnessed many punishments; most nights, I have seen some hapless slave
taken down to the basement for a caning or a paddling. Indeed, I have been
taken to the basement on three occasions and tonight, after Master has
dined, I have to present myself for another caning. Needless to say, I am
very apprehensive and I don't want to give Gerd any grounds to complain
about me to Master who would, in all probability, add to the ten strokes
sentence that he has already decreed for me.
I am very aware that I am running late and that I should have reported to
Gerd punctually at 6.30 PM for the allocation of this evening's duties. One
of Gerd's duties is to select which slaves are to serve in the dining-room
and our Mistress has decreed that each diner will be attended by his or her
own slave. Tonight there are four family members eating in the dining-room
and it will be necessary for Gerd to allocate four slaves to attend them.
Gerd has already selected three slaves and I am to be the fourth slave
who'll attend on Master Thandiwe. There is a ritual to be followed in
preparing us for service in the dining-room. The first part of that ritual
is that we are taken to the slaves' ablution block where we must empty our
bladders and void our bowels. When on duty, serving our Master and his
family, no dispensation will be given to us to attend to any unexpected
calls of nature. Once that is done, we have to shower and when dry, to oil
our bodies with a sweet smelling lotion to mask our body odours. I have
been told the smell of a white man can be offensive to some Blacks who
liken our body odour to that of dairy produce or well-ripened cheese.
Finally we don our loincloths and these are always chosen by our Mistress
to complement the colour theme for that particular night's dinner. Mistress
has impeccable tastes and has acquired several dinner settings of different
colours and patterns. And the loincloths we wear always match or complement
her choice of a dinner service for any particular night.
As I enter the kitchen, I see the three slaves already allocated to serve
at tonight's dinner wear loincloths of delicate duck egg blue with gold
trim to perfectly match the exquisite porcelain dinner service that
Mistress has chosen for tonight's dinner. After I have been in service for
longer, I will learn that Master Thandiwe's favourite colour is blue and
that his mother has especially chosen that colour for his welcome home
dinner.
I am barely through the kitchen door before Gerd berates me for being
late. I'm not given an opportunity to speak and he hurries forward to
viciously slap my face for being late. Even Mistress Mandisa is displeased
with me and applies her crop to my back. Tears fill my eyes; it is so
unfair and the injustice of it all overwhelms me; but then, there is
nothing neither fair nor just about slavery. I am late because Master
Thandiwe had used me to shower and dress him for dinner. Neither Mistress
Mandisa nor Gerd make any allowance for this and I'm not given an
opportunity to explain my tardiness.
Gerd wastes no time in preparing me for my duties. Of course, there is no
time for me to empty my bladder and Gerd tells me should I need to piss
during dinner then I must suffer the consequences of my late appearance and
work with a full bladder until the family have left the dining-room and
retired to the lounge. I am clean - I have just showered with Master
Thandiwe - and Gerd has one of the other slaves, Koos oil my body. Koos
works swiftly in evenly coating my torso, arms and legs with the oil. When
he applies it to my back and shoulders, I wince as his hands glide over the
new welts placed there by Mistress Mandisa's crop. Koos is aware of my
discomfort and his touch is gentle so as not to add further to my pain.
Next, Gerd hands me my loincloth which I pass between my legs and tie off
in a knot on either side of my waist. I take my place alongside the other
three slaves, Koos, Jacobus and Wessel and wait for further instructions. I
hear Gerd tell Mistress Mandisa that he will go to Master and report my
late arrival with the recommendation that I be punished; at the same time
he'll tell Mistress that dinner is ready to be served.
Mistress Mandisa nods in approval and comments.
"The new, slave boy needs to have his white ass striped good!"
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Master Thandiwe:
My mother has inherent, exquisite taste. For her, fine dining is an art
form that demands her fullest attention to detail. And of course, as a
backdrop to that, the environment must be conducive to good eating, fine
wines and sparkling conversations.
The dining-room is necessarily large as my father entertains extensively
among his friends and business associates. Always the perfect host, my
father depends very much on my mother's presence to add elegance and
sophistication to these occasions. My mother has the happy knack of
engaging with people and it is she who keeps the conversations flowing
around the table. She can instantly put the shyest guest at his ease and
involve the most introverted in the animated discussions taking place
around the table. I know my father relies heavily on my mother's
unquestioned skill as the "perfect hostess" which has contributed
enormously to the success of his career.
The background to all this is the dining-room itself and, like the rest of
the house, my mother spared no expense in furnishing it. She eschewed
bourgeois pretension for understated elegance and the room itself is
testament to my mother's inherent good taste for gracious living.
Everything about my parents' home is exquisite, from the understated decor
to the beautiful furnishings that grace every room. And to complement all
this, there are priceless paintings and works of art discreetly displayed
throughout every room. Given all this magnificence, it's not surprising
therefore that my father would want to use it as a backdrop to the most
beautiful and expensive slaves that his money can buy. Each household
slave, with one exception, is himself a wondrous objet d'art and that
exception is Gerd, who has seen better days.
Control of the slaves is shared between my parents. My mother, as Mistress
of the house, ensures that the slaves deport themselves with true humility
and respectful subservience at all times. It is she who sets the house
rules and protocols that they must live by. And as a conscientious and
caring person she takes a personal interest in her slaves. She ensures they
are at all times clean, well-fed and remain healthy.
Each morning, one of her first duties of the day is to have the household
slaves stand before her. Each slave must remove his loin cloth and, in the
first instance, present his nude body for her visual inspection. Should she
consider it necessary she will then have a 'hands-on' examination of the
slave to check that any cuts, bruises or other injuries are only minor? She
pays particular attention to the slaves' genitals to ensure that they are
clean and remain healthy. Even the punishment stripes of the cane or the
crop are closely scrutinized to ensure no lasting damage has been done to
the slave. Finally, the slave's teeth are checked for soundness and he is
questioned about his bladder and bowl movements.
My mother maintains a medicine chest for her slaves and dispenses
medication and first aid should it be needed. On those rare occasions when
a slave is ill, she sends for a doctor who specializes in the treatment of
slaves. He also visits the house twice a year to give each slave a thorough
medical examination and to ensure all the slaves are current with their
tetanus and influenza vaccinations.
My father is the head of the house - in that regard we are a very
traditional family - and his role is very much that of the "pater
familias". Ultimately full authority over the slaves falls on his shoulders
and it is he who passes judgement on the slaves' behaviour and either
rewards or punishes them.
Tonight, at dinner, we eat from the most exquisite dinnerware and drink the
finest wines from expensive, sparkling crystal goblets as the dining-room
slaves serve us. Three of these slaves are obviously well versed in serving
their Master and his family. Poor Wickus is less so and is yet to acquire
those skills. The four, youngest slaves stand unobtrusively, at display,
alongside each of us and maintain a discreet silence as we eat. Yet, they
anticipate our every want and step forward, unbidden to assist us. Napkins
are discreetly unfolded and placed on our laps, wine glasses topped up
without prompting and the empty plates quickly removed between each course,
The room despite its large size has a warm intimacy about it and it is made
more so by the subdued lighting from several large candelabras
strategically placed throughout the room. These cast a warm, golden glow
that has an unintended effect on the four, young slaves included my body
slave, Wickus.
As the semi-naked slaves stand rigidly at display, the candelabras cast
flickering shadows on their oiled and stressed torsos; this play of light
and shadow entrances me and I find I'm guiltily looking at the slaves with
a new found lust. When they do move, this same candlelight glints in the
highly reflective, rolled stainless steel, neck collars they wear around
their necks. The slaves provide a feast of eroticism and the presence of so
much semi- naked, male beauty works its magic on me. Beneath the table, my
cock is the hardest that I can ever remember and I'm afraid the meal will
finish before it has time to subside.
We finish our first course of a delicious, light French onion soup and the
four slaves move quickly and silently to clear away the plates and cutlery
prior to serving us the main course. I watch as Wickus walks towards the
kitchen carrying my plates with great care. The consequences of him
dropping and breaking one of my mother's cherished table settings would be
too dire to contemplate. My gaze is centred on the curves of his shapely
ass. As he walks, I salivate at the undulations of his buttocks and despite
his loincloth I catch sight of the red stripes of his most recent caning
showing through the diaphanous material. And as I look at the rippling
muscles in his crop- marked back, I reflect that soon I must add my own
stripes to his ass to assuage my father's anger with him and to show that I
am capable of managing and disciplining my own slave. I have Gerd to thank
for this and darkly, I plot my revenge.
The four slaves, supervised by Gerd return with the main course which
consists of my favourite meal of tender roast beef, Yorkshire pudding,
baked potatoes and green vegetables. Obviously, my mother has chosen the
menu with me in mind and her chef, Marius - superb cook that he is - has
truly surpassed himself.
Marius is a white slave who'd once been the owner of a five-star rated
restaurant in iKapa. Marius is a genial, portly slave aged somewhere in his
fifties and how he became a slave isn't exactly clear. However, rumour has
it that he was an undischarged bankrupt unable to repay his creditors and
had been sold into slavery to offset some of their losses.
By good fortune, my mother was told about him by a friend who'd recognized
him in the local slave- pens as the former restaurateur. Mother had
successfully prevailed upon my father to buy Marius at astronomical cost
but he has certainly repaid my father's investment in him many times over
during the years he has seen service within my mother's household. My
mother's reputation as a hostess and the success of her dinner-parties is
further enhanced by Marius's culinary skills and artistry.
The meal is delicious and the meat is so tender that it almost melts in my
mouth. As I eat, I survey the five slaves serving us. The four younger ones
are superb creatures and I watch the steady rise and fall of their muscular
chests as they breathe in deeply. Their stomachs are flat plains of ridged
muscle and when they stand in profile their pert, curvaceous asses stand
out in sharp relief.
Two of those slave asses I know very well!
The slaves I refer to are named Koos and Wessel who are aged in their early
to mid-twenties and they have been in service to us for about eight
years. Their exact ages would be known only to them but are of no interest
to me or my family. Slaves don't celebrate birthdays or any other family
festivals such as Christmas or Easter. These only serve to distract them
from their primary purpose of serving their owners' needs and a slave's
attention must be forever focused exclusively on those needs.
As a young teenager entering into the wonderful, mysterious world of sex,
I'd experimented with Koos and Wessel. At first, this took the form of
simple masturbation and as my confidence grew, I expanded my sexuality
further by using both slaves' mouths and asses. It would be impossible for
me to say with certainty how many times I fucked them. Suffice to say that
it was a daily occurrence until I moved away to University.
Tonight, I look at both asses and fondly remember the many pleasures they
have given me over the years. But I have eyes for only one ass tonight and
that is the one belonging to my slave, Wickus. I can't take my eyes away
from it and I wait impatiently for bedtime and the chance to sample its
delights.
The fifth slave is Gerd! However, he is hardly a figure of masculine
beauty; in fact, quite the opposite is true. His greying, sandy-coloured
hair is thinning and his rounded, stooped shoulders seem to accentuate his
protruding, rotund belly. Gerd wears an identical loin cloth to the younger
slaves and thankfully it covers his flabby ass-cheeks hiding their ugliness
from my view. As I look at Gerd, I am repulsed by him and wonder how my
father can keep such an ugly slave in his household. But I suppose it has
something to do with my father's need for revenge against his former white
boss. Yes, it would have to be that. Certainly my father doesn't keep the
surly Gerd for his good looks or pleasant nature.
My anger with the devious Gerd continues unabated. I deeply resent his
unfair treatment of Wickus and his sly attempts to have my father add to
the young slave's punishment. I am biding my time and looking for a chance
to take my revenge on him. I am coldly determined that Gerd will be
punished along with Wickus and that his punishment will be the greater of
the two.
Gerd's dining-room duties are essentially those of my mother's house
steward. It is his responsibility to ensure the younger slaves under his
control serve each course with the minimum of delay between them. And
foremost among his other duties is that of the wine waiter. He has to pour
the wine into our crystal goblets and to ensure they are never empty. And
it is he who serves the coffee with our desserts. Of course, this feeds his
ego and inflates his air of self-importance. Pathetically, tonight, the
slave, despite his inbuilt sullenness, is at his most pompous worst. I can
barely conceal my contempt for him.
Nevertheless, my mind is at work thinking of ways to "fabricate" a
situation whereby Gerd offends and is punished. As I watch him go about his
duties a germ of an idea plants itself into my mind.
We finish the main course and our slaves step forward to remove our empty
plates. I have noticed there is a pattern in the way Wickus serves me. He
places a full plate before me from my left side and removes the empty one
from my right. It appears very controlled but it is a reflection of my
mother's impeccable, good table manners.
Wickus is at my side and he leans forward to remove my empty dinner
plate. His ass is provocatively poised just inches from me tempting me to
reach out and touch it. The urge to do so is strong and I struggle to
resist the temptation out of respect for my parents and my brother. But
his delicious, curvaceous buttocks do taunt me.
His proximity to me is unsettling. His semi-naked body is just inches away
from me and I see the outline of his generous sized genitalia through the
sheer, translucent material of his loin-cloth and, interestingly, I see
that he is semi-aroused. It requires all my willpower to resist the urge to
fondle him. Wickus has a delicious, scent about him emanating from the
perfumed lotion coating his body. For some reason he is sweating slightly
- could he be thinking about his impending caning - and the pheromones his
fear release intoxicate me with their manly smell.
Beneath the table my own cock strains uncomfortably within the prison of my
undergarments and its erratic throbbing borders on the almost painful. My
need for release is desperate and uppermost in my thoughts is the one that
this beautiful white 'boy' is now to serve me as my slave.
Once more, I watch lasciviously as Wickus walks towards the door into the
kitchen. And once more, I am entranced by the way his ass cheeks work in
perfect unison as he gracefully walks away from me.
Suddenly my father's word cut through my lust-filled thoughts. He too is
looking at Wickus's ass but for a very different reason to mine. Mine are
filled with the erotic thoughts of the pleasure it will afford me later; my
father's thoughts are of the pain they must soon endure.
"Tell me Thandiwe, do you still think you are capable of delivering a sound
caning to your slave? Or now that you know your slave a little better, are
you having second thoughts about that?"
My father is testing me to see if I have the resolve to punish Wickus. Much
depends on my answer. I'm aware that Gerd stands slightly to the left of
my father and is smirking at my predicament. Somehow, he senses my
reluctance to inflict pain upon Wickus and he obviously believes I'm not
capable of doing so. If I fail my father's test, then control over Wickus
will be returned to Gerd and I will have to defer to him. I am determined
this won't happen and that Wickus will be answerable to me and not to Gerd.
"Sure Dad, I can do that. Immediately after dinner, I will cane Wickus to
prove to you that I'm capable of managing my own slave."
"I'm pleased to hear you say that Thandiwe. A Master must be in control of
his slaves at all times. And I think the time is right for you to assume
the responsibility for your own slave. I have been thinking of allowing
you to take one of the younger slaves with you when you return to
University to serve you as your body slave. Does that appeal to you?"
The unexpectedness of my father's offer takes me by surprise and
momentarily I am speechless. When I'd let to go to University my father
had been most generous. He'd given me a new car as a means of transport, he
arranged for me to stay in a students' residential apartment building
adjacent to the university and he'd given me a most generous allowance to
ensure that I wanted for nothing. Many of the students living in my
apartment building had their own slaves staying with them and how I envied
them. It was a real "status symbol" for a student to have his own personal
slave to take care of all his needs and I'd often thought about asking my
father if I could have a slave of my own but always I'd hesitated.
My father isn't the most approachable of men and so I'd always been a
little afraid to broach the subject with him. But now he is offering me a
slave to take back to College and immediately I think of Wickus. The idea
excites me and I'm overwhelmed by my father's generous offer. Perhaps, in
making the offer, my father finally sees me as mature enough and ready to
take on adult responsibilities.
As we talk, the four slaves return with our desserts and place them before
us on the table and then take up their silent places at our sides. Gerd
pours coffee for my mother before moving to my father then me as the older
son and finally to Isivile. As Gerd pours coffee into my cup, an idea for
my revenge on Gerd finally crystallizes in my mind. I will act upon it
shortly. But first, I must accept my father's unexpected offer.
"Dad, I'm overwhelmed! But sure, I'd love to have my own slave live with me
at College. Most of the other students do and as you know the building is
set up to have our "live-in" slaves reside there with us. Thanks Dad and I
accept your offer. It will be great to have Wickus with me."
"Actually, Thandiwe, I didn't have Wickus in mind. I think he's too new and
raw to slavery and not yet fully trained. I see him as too much of a
handful for you to train and you don't want any distractions to get in the
way of your studies. No, I had some of the other fully trained slaves in
mind. I was thinking of a slave like Danie or Theunis. "
"What about Willem?" My mother suggests. "He's a well -trained, loyal and
most obedient slave. I think he'd be the perfect servant for you,
Thandiwe."
All three of the slaves mentioned by my parents are eminently suitable and
if I'd not seen Wickus and fallen under his spell, I'd have been
hard-pressed to choose between them. But I am inexplicably drawn to Wickus;
however I know now isn't the time to argue with my parents. I have two
months in which to train Wickus into my ways and to convince my parents
that Wickus is the right choice as my personal slave. And so, I remain
silent.
"That's settled then Thandiwe. When you return to college a slave will
accompany you."
"Thanks Dad this is a most unexpected present."
"Thandiwe now that it's been decided you are to have a slave of your own
you'll need to understand the necessity to use punishment as a tool in your
training of him. The slave needs to understand that the Master's word is
law and any non-compliance with it is unpardonable. You have to raise a
slave's consciousness to such a level that he expects to be punished
whenever he disobeys or offends you. You know the old grandmothers' saying
about sparing the rod and spoiling the child. Well that applies equally to
a slave. You never spare a slave the cane if its use is warranted."
"I won't Dad! I'll prove to you over the holidays that I can control a
slave. I promise!"
"Good son, I'll be watching closely! Remember always Thandiwe, there are no
rules in a Master/slave relationship other than those the Master puts into
place. And remember it is you - the Master -who sets the rules to reflect
your lifestyle, your desires and your needs. Your slave doesn't have any
input other than complete obedience to those rules you set as the
benchmark. Everything he does is to be done at your bidding. Thandiwe,
always remember that, in your future dealing with all slaves."
"I will! Thank you for the advice, Dad!"
Wickus is standing silently at my side as we discuss my father's unexpected
gift of a slave to me. I look at him to see how he's reacting to the idea
of accompanying me back to College at the end of the summer. His face is
expressionless and betrays no emotion at all. I wonder about his thoughts.
Would he welcome the chance to leave my father's house and come live with
me at University?
"Hey Dad, now that you've given Thandiwe his own slave," my brother Isivile
asks impetuously, 'what about me. When can I have my own slave?"
"Isivile, when I consider you're ready and responsible you'll be given your
own slave. But that day is still some way off."
"But Dad, you've given Thandiwe as slave," Isivile asks truculently, "and
why can't I have my own slave?"
"For the reasons I've already given, Isivile! And you forget that Thandiwe
is older than you. In the meantime you have Jacobus to look to your needs."
"But Dad ...."
"That's enough, Isivile!" My father's impatience is showing. "That's an end
to the discussion. Let's hear no more about it. I'll decide when you are
ready for your own slave."
As always, my father has the final say, His word is law in our household
and like me Isivile knows when it is prudent to remain
silent. Nevertheless, Isivile sits surly-faced across the table from me and
sulks.
But the time has come for me to put my plan of revenge against Gerd into
action. Brusquely, I order him to.
"Gerd, top up my coffee cup!"
I watch as Gerd leaves my father's side and walks to the sideboard to
retrieve the coffee percolator. Quite deliberately, he takes his time and
walks slowly back to me. I see this as insolence on his part for he'd never
show such tardiness to my parents. His action is provocative and shows his
contempt for my youth. My need to bring Gerd undone only intensifies.
He is on my left and he slowly and sullenly refills my cup. It is a silent
show of defiance on his part which isn't lost on me. The time has come for
me to act.
First, I check that my parents aren't watching and then I slyly nudge Gerd
with my elbow causing him to spill coffee onto the table-cloth. As the
spilled coffee stain spreads across the pristine whiteness of the
table-cloth, I pretend that my anger is real and loudly abuse him.
"You stupid slave, look what you have done! You clumsy dolt, you've spilt
coffee onto my mother's tablecloth."
My loud outburst attracts my parents' attention; my mother is dismayed and
she soundly rebukes Gerd for his carelessness.
Poor Gerd! He stands frozen in disbelief and fear. His offence is a
serious one and he knows he will be punished for it. Personally, I take
great delight in his discomfiture; this is payback for his attempt to have
Wickus punished further and for all those other slaves who have suffered
unwarranted punishments because of his tattletales to my parents.
And there's the added satisfaction in knowing that he is guiltless and that
he can't protest his innocence without blaming me. This is something my
father would never allow a slave to do - to attempt to shift blame for his
crime onto a free man - and it would only add to his punishment. Gerd
realizes the hopelessness of his situation and he remains silent and I see
the frustration in his eyes.
"What happened, Gerd?" My father asks sternly. "Explain your awkwardness."
"Master, it was an accident! Master I didn't mean it to happen."
And then falling to his knees, he apologizes to my mother.
"Mistress, forgive me." He plaintively pleads. "Please. Mistress forgive
me?"
However, there can't be any overlooking the seriousness of his offence and
my father is in no mood to be lenient.
"Be silent slave! For your carelessness you will be given ten strokes of
the cane. Immediately after dinner you will accompany Wickus down to the
basement and there you will both remove your loincloths and stand at
display and wait for the arrival of myself and my two sons to administer
your punishments."
Gerd is still on his knees and crawls to my father's feet and pitifully
pleads for mercy - a mercy that surely he knows can't be given. But I guess
his fear of the cane overrides his common sense. I recall Wickus
description of the pain that the cane inflicts and I'm glad that the odious
Gerd is to share in Wickus's suffering.
However, I still haven't finished with Gerd and I put the second part of my
plan into action.
"Dad, Isn't ten strokes of the cane far too lenient?
"Why do you say that, Thandiwe?"
"Well Dad, it seems to me that extra punishment is warranted. After all,
Gerd has control over the younger slaves and he must set the example for
them to follow. Tonight, if one of the younger slaves had spilled the
coffee, you'd have sentenced him to ten strokes of the cane. Am I correct?"
"Yes you are, Thandiwe."
"Well then, because Gerd is the senior household slave shouldn't his
punishment be greater than that given to a junior slave. It seems to me
that his position calls for harsher chastisement."
"You are absolutely right. Gerd will receive an extra five strokes of the
cane."
"Dad, I feel that is still too lenient! The punishment must fit the
crime. Isn't that the gist of what you were telling me a few minutes ago
about controlling slaves?"
"Well then Thandiwe, what punishment would you consider is warranted?"
"In view of Gerd's offence, I think the cane is too light a punishment. I
suggest he be given ten strokes of the leather paddle."
I see the colour drain from Gerd's face at the prospect of a paddling. I
also see something else reflected in his eyes - his new found fear of
me. Overconfident, he'd challenged me over the control of Wickus. I
responded to his challenge and I have won. Gerd is very much the loser as
he is about to discover for himself in the basement.
"There's one more thing, Dad! Can I administer Gerd's punishment? I'm
anxious to show you that I am capable of controlling and punishing a
slave."
"Off course you can Thandiwe! I'm proud of you and I'm sorry I ever
doubted your will to control and punish a slave when it is
warranted. Tonight, you are proving to me that you are a true Master."
"Then let's finish dinner and once everything is cleared away Gerd can
assemble all the household slaves in the basement to witness his
punishment. That should serve as a salutary warning to him and them to take
care in future."
Sadly, I must punish Wickus - that is unavoidable - and I must do so in a
way that satisfies my father. But rather than all his attention being
focused on my slave, I have diverted his attention to Gerd. Given my
father's need for revenge against Gerd, I'm sure he'll be more interested
in witnessing his punishment more so than Wickus's caning.
And personally, there'll be great personal satisfaction in asserting my
authority over Gerd.
To be continued ....
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